


Not Quite 1001 Nights

by babywarg (morphaileffect)



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance, Storytelling, Tony Stark Hates Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22540621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphaileffect/pseuds/babywarg
Summary: Tony is attacked by a magical enemy. He winds up bedridden, his strength all but completely sapped.Enter Doctor Stephen Strange, a magic user who finds a way to heal Tony...by telling him a story and a half, every night.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 25
Kudos: 176





	Not Quite 1001 Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is unbeta'd and may be a bit choppy - i woke up with [Richard Siken's poem "Scheherazade"](https://april-is.tumblr.com/post/87747508/april-6-2006-scheherazade-richard-siken) in my head and just had to write something quick.

Tony Stark hated magic.

He especially hated magic when he was attacked by a magic-using villain - and his immune system took a rapid dive.

In a few days, he was bedridden, with barely any strength in his legs. Doctors couldn't help him. Nanotech couldn't help him.

He _really_ hated magic.

And he really hated having to go to another magic user for healing.

People in the know referred him to Stephen Strange: a former medical doctor, and probably one of the best magic users in the world, given that he was "Master" of some sort of spiritual refuge in the heart of Greenwich Village.

He did house calls, which was a lucky thing.

When Doctor Strange arrived at Tony’s penthouse, the first thing Tony asked was if sex magic was involved.

The first answer he got was a heartfelt eyeroll.

***

Every night, Stephen Strange appeared in Tony Stark’s bedroom and cast spells over him.

(And no, sex magic wasn't involved. Unless he wanted it to be, Stephen said, with a daring stare. Tony shut up because he knew what was good for him.)

The one constant among his spells was a thin film of light that hovered over Tony - which Tony didn’t actually feel. But Tony imagined that his skin's nerve endings must have been too busy dying to feel anything.

He couldn't refuse the doctor’s spells. Even if he didn't know if they were doing any actual good.

The spellcasting took a while. In the meantime, Tony tried to chat up his physician, throwing inane topics at him - plus one or two pickup lines - in an effort to kill boredom.

Stephen quickly found a way to silence his patient's hyperactive brain:

He started talking about his magical missions across the multiverse.

Under normal circumstances, it would put people to sleep. He knew this from experience, because whenever he did it to Wong, and to some of the younger acolytes who foolishly came to him for stories, they all. Invariably. Fell asleep on him.

He was beginning to wonder if he subconsciously cast sleep spells while doing it. At any rate, it might have been a good thing if Tony were asleep while he did his doctor business.

But he never got the chance to find out. Because Tony _never_ _slept._

Unlike everyone else, he stayed awake and listened.

Occasionally, he made comments - asked questions, snickered, exclaimed "That's bull" or variations thereof - but he generally stayed silent.

Which was good. The less he moved, the more effective Stephen’s spells were.

Stephen had not, in fact, known that Tony _loved_ fantastic stories. The more out-of-this-world, the better. The more _romantic_ , the better.

“Okay,” the doctor said as he wrapped up that evening’s magical therapy. “We’re done for the day. I’ll see you again, same time tomorrow.”

“Wait!” his patient called from the bed. “What happened to the purple cloud prince? Did he survive his father’s assassination attempts? Did he get to be king?”

Stephen stopped short of entering the portal going back to his Sanctum.

A bit taken aback at the thought of someone actually _wanting_ to hear his stories, he muttered, “I...uh...I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Then he left.

***

The next evening, Tony greeted him with “You better tell me what happened to the purple cloud prince because I swear to God, I’ve already written five fanfics of him in my head.”

Stephen snorted. “Fanfics? What are you, twelve?”

“With spinoffs, doc,” Tony pleaded. “Spinoffs! Have mercy.”

“Jesus, all right,” Strange chuckled. “Where did I stop last night?”

Tony told him: the purple cloud prince was about to throw down with his best friend, the knight captain, for the right to claim his father's throne. Oh, right, Stephen said. Well, what happened was...

As Stephen wrapped up the story, he was able to do his spells without Tony fidgeting or fussing or wasting his time with idle talk.

Stephen quickly realized he had a good thing going.

So as soon as he finished his story - the one about the purple cloud prince’s story of ascension into the purple cloud throne - he began a new one.

“Since you love the purple cloud prince so much, I bet you’d love to know if he and the warrior with the talking cat got together.”

“What? They got together?? Oh God, please, tell me everything.”

“Well, that one is kind of a funny story...”

The funny part to Stephen was actually that he timed his story to get cut in the middle - at the same time as he wrapped up the night’s medical therapy session.

“Nooo,” Tony groaned pitifully, “you can’t leave me like this!”

“Sorry.” Stephen sheepishly shrugged. “Tomorrow.”

Tony sighed and let his doctor leave.

Stephen noted with satisfaction that Tony had a bit more color in his cheeks.

***

It went on for many, many nights. Stephen started a story one night, and ended it the next night - then began a new story, and so on.

Sometimes, a story would go on and on for days, ending at cliffhangers each time. Tony loved those the most. The longest and most detailed of them felt the most _real_ to him.

Tony beamed with genuine delight when his doctor came around, and followed each and every yarn with the eagerness of a starry-eyed child.

And Stephen, on his part, found himself looking forward to his appointment with his patient more and more.

He never had to make up a story - new ones were everywhere, in the many worlds he had access to. All he had to do was reach for a story that already existed, then bring it down to Earth so it could help feed Tony’s perpetually hungry mind.

At first, it was only fascinating, how Tony latched on to the multiverse’s many possibilities. Over time, it became endearing.

It almost made him sad to think it had to end, and soon.

Tony developed a new appreciation for magic - first, because it was awesome when Stephen used it to illustrate his stories. It was like being in a holo-chamber, with sights, smells and sounds overwhelming him, moving all around him, as he lay in bed.

And second, because he began to feel himself getting stronger.

He was soon able to stand and walk around without the help of crutches. His appetite slowly came back to normal. He was able to wash, dress and primp himself up. In no time, he was in the gym again, doing physical therapy with actual medical doctors to build his strength back up.

His goal, though he would not say it aloud at first, was to be strong enough to ask Stephen to take him along on a magical mission.

He was planning to surprise Stephen with that proposal.

But Stephen came at him first, with a surprise of his own.

He finished the last tale he told Tony - about the time he fought a dark, merciless version of himself.

The film of light over Tony’s body shimmered out of sight.

And Stephen didn’t start another story.

“What’s the matter?” Tony asked.

“You’re all better now,” Stephen said quietly. “I have no reason to come by anymore.”

“What? How do you know I’m all better? My instruments say I’m still at 80% health...”

“You’ll be at 100% in a few days. You’ve managed your own recovery so well, it’s a sure thing.”

“ ‘ Managed my own recovery’? What does that mean? Weren’t you curing me with magic?”

It was time for another confession. Stephen turned his eyes away as he spoke:

“I stopped ‘curing’ you with magic after a week. The light spell I kept casting after that was...pure diagnostics. It was a spiritual attack, not a physical attack that hit you, Tony. You had to build up your spiritual strength - your optimism and will to get better. And you were already doing that, mostly without my help.”

“You mean...you came by even if you didn’t need to anymore?”

Stephen was still looking away. Tony, at a loss for words, stammered:

“I-I mean, you’re always welcome here. You don’t need a _reason_.”

Stephen smiled, and met Tony’s eyes finally.

“You don’t need me here, either,” he quietly said.

“Pardon the disrespect, Doc, but if that’s your medical opinion, you’re _wrong_.” Tony might not have realized his voice was rising. “If not for your stories, I...”

He caught himself, corrected:

“...if not for _you_ , I wouldn’t have found the strength to get better. Technically, you saved my life.”

He stepped up to Stephen, said slowly:

“I don’t think I’m ready for you to stop coming by.”

They were in each other’s personal space so many times, over the weeks Tony was healing. So this closeness felt familiar, _right_.

Tony reached for Stephen’s hand. It shook, slightly, but did not break loose of his light hold.

Stephen started to say, “Tony...I...”

But Tony was already leaning in for a kiss.

A kiss that was swiftly, hungrily returned.

Their first kiss was exhilarating, Tony noted - like the start of a new story. One they would begin to write together.

And, true to the way Tony’s restless mind worked, he was already working out how it was going to flow, the many ways it was going to turn out.

When it was time to pass it on to others, Tony already imagined, there was going to be so much to say.

It was going to be one hell of a tale.


End file.
